


The Son of a Tyrant

by ren_is_okay



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hanging, Light Angst, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, cannot believe that I just tagged "hanging", definitely not enough dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:08:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26777140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ren_is_okay/pseuds/ren_is_okay
Summary: There has just been a hanging in the citadel.Arthur is… reserved.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Kudos: 21





	The Son of a Tyrant

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is quite short and has next to no dialogue, and I kind of doubt that anyone will seriously enjoy it, but I thought that I should post it anyways. It's the first Merlin fanfic that I've ever written in full, and the second fit that I've posted on this site at all. So hey, why not?
> 
> This fic does feature minor violence (in the form of a non-graphic hanging) and a minor character death. I'm not sure if that could trigger anyone, but better safe than sorry. Please don't read this if either of these topics will bother you. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, feel free to leave a comment if you want!

There has just been a hanging in the citadel. 

Arthur is… reserved. 

He’s seen it happen countless times before, been raised on it, really. Some of his earliest memories are of standing in the very spot that he is now, just above the gallows, watching as the latest sorcerer is slowly lifted into the air by their neck. He hadn’t thought much of it then, back when he was young and impressionable, back when his father’s hand lay heavy on his shoulder. 

And why should he have?

He had been a child, single minded and not exactly cruel, not yet. He had been the offspring of his father, his mother long forgotten and pushed to the backburner. His world had consisted of swordfighting and of violence, of cold shoulders and of maids who just couldn’t be mothers, no matter how much Arthur needed one. So a hanging, or an execution, or a burning? That wasn’t out of the question. 

It wasn’t something that Arthur really thought about then, back when he was small and cold and had a million other things to think about that weren’t mourning families or the gasping commoners or even the quiet disgust that seemed apparent in the eyes of every servant, all watching Uther’s blank - nearly satisfied, not at all warm - expression. 

Arthur is not a child anymore.

No, Arthur is a king. Arthur is a knight and a leader and maybe even a human, now, for the first time. Arthur looks down towards the gallows, and he does not see routine. He does not feel the weight of his father’s hand, calloused against the fabric of his shirt. He does not see an evil man, hanging there from rope; he sees a husband and a father and a man who maybe, even, did not deserve to die. 

Arthur has spent his entire life in his father’s shadow. He’s been a copy and he has been trusting of his father’s leadership. He became a king and he saw this wonderful city that his father had created, and he worried that he might break it. He was afraid to fail, to ruin what Uther had spent so long building up. 

He does not think that anymore. 

Arthur is terrified to be a bad king. He is just now realizing what a bad king might look like. 

A bad king, for example, may horrify his own citizens. They may cringe away from him, may bow their heads and mutter apologies and hold their hands behind their backs in submission. Maybe a bad king is regarded with fear; maybe a bad king looks down at that man on the gallows and refuses to do something when he sees two small children, two small daughters, as they kneel and cry by their father’s pale form. Maybe a bad king hardens his expression as he takes notice of Merlin's saddened eyes and drawn eyebrows, straightens his back and walks back into the castle, eyes up and shoulders back. 

And maybe Arthur has been a bad king. 

This is the first time that he’s really considered it, because as terrified as he is to be bad, he has always been his father’s son. He has always thought that his father was a good king, someone worthy of the respect that he garnered. Now, however, with Uther far gone and a whole kingdom still here, the people and the houses and the gallows as they stand firm, Arthur isn’t sure. 

He can’t help but notice now; the weary expression worn by every servant - even Merlin, who Arthur had never thought of as similar to anyone else. The pale faces, the drawn forms. Arthur takes note of this all, now, and he can’t help but notice the tension that he had previously been blind to. 

He doesn't go back to his chambers. 

He makes a sharp turn just at the corner of the hallway, forcing Merlin to turn suddenly with him. 

“Arthur? Where are we going?” Merlin’s voice is small but firm, so different from his previous lighthearted tone. How Arthur had never taken notice of it before, he doesn’t know, but he hears it now. Hears the grief and the weight and even the disapproval. Arthur’s heart aches with it, and he pulls Merlin along with him as he walks down the stairs to the castle, past servants and nobles and even children. 

He walks down into the town, ignores Merlin’s question. He walks past men and women alike, children and adults and those who sit somewhere in between, all quiet. They are not celebrating like his father may have once thought. They are not relieved, they are not joyous. 

They are quiet, and it punches the air out of Arthur. 

“Merlin,” he says, turning to face his servant. His tone is quiet, “I think that I’ve made a mistake.”


End file.
